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Month: April 2018

Before I realize it I will be old.
Until then, I’ll continue my delusion,
That all I put my hands on turns to gold.

Not that I am speaking of glittering confusion.
Rather, an understanding of a thought so far fetched;
It unfetters humanity from economic institution.

Giving us reason to hold our hands outstretched
Without fear that helping someone has a price.
Trading greed for value so peace may be etched
Into the stone of our magnificent edifice.
When looking back upon ‘our history’ of OUR time,
I hope our children’s children realize some were nice.

That we cared to acknowledge the sublime
Utilizing the innate skills from both heart and mind;
Uniting our souls through harmony and rhyme.

The worst thing in the world exists because I perceive it.
Because I can see it, touch it, and feel it. This makes me believe it.
This makes me believe that it’s physically there,
Leering at me through dark and graying hair.
This ‘it’ is a man, or whatever I glean.
The worst thing in the world doesn’t like to be seen.
This thing, this person, doesn’t disclose nasty phrases.
This he/she/it is blessed with the most beautiful of faces.
Residing wherever the wild things are,
At one time it’s name was ‘The Morning Star’.
Keys to a kingdom were passed on in it’s fall,
It defended it’s cause not to kneel before ‘All’.
‘All’ being God in it’s greatest of glory,
Or so the book claims in its fairy tale story.
Now here the world rests in turbulent times,
Because immortal beings hold hostage their followers minds.
I laugh at this, though I’m a fleck through eternity;
A blink, a fleeting whisper, and dust will become of me.
What a shame, such a shame, the worst thing in the world is;
Fingers pointed, wars get waged, and truth becomes a prism.
All because we make it so, all because one day we imagined;
that there’s something more out there that we simply cannot fathom.
And so we pillage, plunder, and rape
And so we go on with our routine of hate.
And so no one knows just what to expect,
From the office of leaders appointed by the derilect.
The masses they’ll crowd, they’ll protest in vain
The worst thing in the world, oh what a shame.
Empires give way to enterprises that rise,
Corporations and greed who have no care for blue skies.
Buying off kings, governments, and land.
Leaving no room for fellow woman and man.
So what, who cares though, because you think you are free.
You’re paid for with paper so it’s not slavery.
There are many times I often wonder…I ponder….
Why the best of ideas are not ever funded.
In with the new and out with the old.
But wait! the world doesn’t seem to have enough gold.
It’s wasted on products that dismantle mankind,
And fill the people with fear of what they might find.
One day they’ll see that economy is a ruse
A way of keeping the meek easy to abuse.
A way to keep the dimwitted masses occupied.
So, here’s a statue, a building, and a cause to defile.
The masses don’t seem to care for the masses.
They only see ignorant, foreigners and asses.
I guess that it comes with the territory.
Of hating others so that peace may ring free.
It’s all been built through the good graces of privilege;
Who wrote us a check that gave us the edge.
We will do what they say now, no suggestion will be shot down.
Heck, even the almighty at one point decided everyone should drown.
It’s been written God did this with a heart full of love
Then felt bad about it later and gave you it’s son.
The Worst Thing In The world and the crap it comes up with.
I tell you, in my opinion, humanity has always been rather disgusting.
I can’t wait to be gone, to be the hell out of here.
Honestly, when I’m looking back, I’ll be happy to state that I no longer care.
Whether or not you can accept it, or see;
The worst thing in the world is them, you, and me.

FOR JORDAN
You are still a child, and there is so much you have yet to learn that I may not be able to teach you. I would imagine it may be best that you do not know what I know until you are old enough to comprehend. Perhaps the time will come when I can speak to you first hand. About how I love, about how I care, and about the way certain people just simply care to not understand. I can surmise that the only way I can do that is by writing down the things I wish I could have been there to teach you. So this way, you can read them with your own eyes and they remain locked forever on paper and unscathed by those who may choose to silence me. By those who twist words and convince others they are wrong for what they believe.
In this book, I shall tell you of things, many things that wasted me and made me feel ashamed. For all the things, I have yet to be to dote upon your eyes. there’s all the things that helped me fall, made me…me…, then inspired me to again, rise.
For you my child I wish only love, and love throughout your life. What’s in the past is done and over, as well as, all the strife. All the things that hurt me most, I gave up; but you weren’t one. I hope one day you read these words and understand just what happened. That you learn to love and dismiss the things that do not really matter. That your mind is not as plagued as mine with less than delightful clatter. And that in these words you find the courage to stand up for your dreams and be a person far greater than I.
You may find hidden, in all my words a notion and decree. To share myself with the world so that they may indeed see me. To see me and say that life’s not unfair, but pain it seems to follow. To show the world that me, is me, and that ‘one world’ is my motto. I may not make this kindly pass into a dream upon a dream, but know in time that I will continue the hopes of goodness in your grotto.
The grotto you built for yourself in times you feel alone. The place that’s there when all is gone and those you love seem made of stone. The place of mind, and of time, that lingers in your brain. The place that listens, as you listen, when you’re dancing in the rain.
In time, I hope I change the world, for it’s all I have to do. All I have and nothing more if I cannot see you. The world is rough and monsters make it so, and there’s no reason for them to hide. A timid, meek and mild heart, is steadily on the rise, to blank out all the ones who leave us in distress. To no longer care about the things that cause us such duress. To destroy the utter wasted wastes that threaten abundant life. To make it so, as it was said, it’s good to multiply.
You are my shine and I am yours girl, after all, we do share blood. Those infrequent moments of time everlasting and we can’t control the flood. There are demons there and there always will be I can only just surmise, but if you’re like me and of those I abhor you’ll simply find your way. Then, you’ll see and find for yourself the world’s our only place to stay.
My tale is not a depressing, nor a gloat upon depression, just an eager strike at words while a parent lay in recession. A stroke of madness glimpses me and I’m sure you feel the same, do not regress and keep it simple until you understand the game. My child, you see if not for me you would not read these words, too know there is discovery and freedom in these verses.
It’s not about abandonment nor starting a senseless fight. It’s about what one deems wrong and the other has found right. There is no vicious enemy or convincing otherwise. Just know there is a delegate watching you all your life. I am that person thrust aside with vigorous intent. My response, is quelled rage, and diligent lament.
The things I’ve learned in life is what I want to pass to you. The best way that I can see how to do this is by writing it to you. So that you may see I had a tender heart throughout the years I was not there, and that you may understand it is the best way I know how to prepare you for when you do finally comprehend the way that I see life. That way, you will not be filled with the same fear and doubt that wrought me for so long. You will know someone is on your side, ready and willing to fight.
One day you may read these words and know that so much of what I do is geared towards you being happy when you think all hope is lost. That life is giving you an unfair throat-punch and you just want to throw in the towel. Don’t kid, just stay the course and know no matter how difficult things seem that life doesn’t give you any more than you can handle. It’s tough, but if I succeed in my plans then (as I said to you before) you will see that dreams do come true, and I want yours to come true for you…whatever they turn out to be….

CLARITY
I am no trophy wife, I am free and I am me. I resented being placed on a mantle and told what my womanly duties should be. Despite a deep love affair with the Wordsmith it became clear to both of us that we would make better friends. He had his work, his writing and of course his visions of freedom. These were indeed something that I could not compete with. These he had love for and little else filled that void for him. I thought perhaps it would be nice to be a part of that, but, much of the way he sought to achieve his goals were ways that I wasn’t ready to follow.
Our end was not bitter and our time spent together was almost always blissful. I had a night life that didn’t seem to agree with him though. He couldn’t stay out and preferred to be alone save for a companion from time to time (I suggested he get a cat). And I, well, I had prior engagements that required a delicate attention…I’m married, rather, I was married…. This too, is something that the Wordsmith cared little to par-take in.
At first, I found it hard to tell him about this due to a fear of what I thought he would say, how he may not ever choose to speak to me again. The pain that I may have inflicted upon him after already being through so much may have had some serious consequences. I did listen to how strongly he felt about honesty and I chose to throw caution to the wind and tell him the truth, reluctantly. After all, I did deceive him, thankfully he still had forgiveness in his heart.
After finding out though, my husband proved to be quite the opposite (I chose to do this after the Wordsmith left). It was a marriage doomed right out of the gates, he a chauvinist alcoholic and myself a barroom singer that understood all too well the ugliness of Loch Loa. He fell in love with my voice, and said I was beautiful. Those things began to fade as his own Loch Loa took control of him. I had to leave, but I wasn’t ready to let certain aspects of my life go. Eventually, I found my own place, moved out, tried to become my own woman. That all fell into place after the Wordsmith and Silver Tongue left. I missed the minimalism of the lifestyle of living on a boat. And it was simply the only lifestyle I could afford.
I did eventually meet a man that was nearly as full of hope as the Wordsmith and his name was Seigh Pten. He filled that void for me that I was unable to fill for the Wordsmith. Spending time with him gave me the courage to buy my own boat. Seigh left several months after the Wordsmith and I am soon to follow. I hope to come across one (or all) of them in time, but that is my own fools journey that I have to muster up the courage to proceed forward with.
What the Wordsmith did become for me had more of a master/apprentice sort of dynamic. I loved and adored the way he saw life, and for him I was the one he needed in order to help spread a philantheosophy of life that most didn’t possess. I’d also like to think that I was the friend he needed at the time. He enjoyed my voice and my taste in music, we would sit together on the ‘Gina Marie’ and he would type while I just reflected on the hypnotic sounds of the wakes rapping on this tiny chamber. The sound of the laps against her hull created a rhythm that I would find myself humming along to. I can’t help myself, I love singing, and he would listen. That is something that vanished with my husband’s drinking, that sense of peace.
Over time he would open up to me bit by bit. He had been through quite a lot over the course of three years. Homelessness, jobless, drifting around from state to state. His ex-wife had played her cards right and, even though her intentions were for something far better than both she and himself, she still really screwed him over and drove him away. Basically, these were all wounds I could not heal and could still see that they were not yet scars on the Wordsmith’s heart.
I did want to see him happy (despite the fact that I wanted him all to myself), I knew however, it would not be. Due to the fact that I had no intentions of leaving my husband (at the time). I did however know of a young woman that would sing from time to time at The Blue Room. She was a singer that I admired and she was amazing. For the life of me I could not understand how it was that she was not making a fortune recording and selling out stadiums. Her voice soared, and it had a somber undertone that brought a sadness to the most upbeat of songs. There was joy in her heart and lots of it, that was for sure! But, you could tell that deep down, she was in need of something that she feared she may not ever find, that is why I brought the Wordsmith to her.
Her stage name was Silver Tongue, she put the audience in a trance whenever she sang. That alone is a talent to have, but when you can do the same when speaking to people it’s a bit of a danger in the wrong hands. She handled it rather well though, and she only took what she needed to skate by in life. This is how I knew that she and the Wordsmith would make a wonderful alliance, and lovers.
She was young, but eager to learn, and she had a spine that would cause her to not take any shit, even when people weren’t giving her shit. Her complexion was as dark as the ebony wood bar at The Blue Room, if it wasn’t for the fact that she was in the spotlight you may not have ever seen how gorgeous she truly was.
It wasn’t long after they met that the Wordsmith and Silver Tongue left Florida. He said his farewells to me and off they went. He headed west out towards the Gulf of Mexico. Even now, when I pass over the Tamiami Trail Bridge, I still miss looking west and seeing the ‘Gina Marie’ at anchor.
Seigh’s departure was far more sudden, one day he was there, the next he was gone. I could tell he was troubled by his past and when I told him the stories of the Wordsmith it would bring a settled look to his face. As if it eased him to know that he wasn’t alone in a miserable situation. He had his boat that was a bit more rugged than the Wordsmith’s, which he named ‘Shadow,’ and upon that boat I learned much about boats in general. So much so, that I bought my boat and named her ‘Miss Conduct.’
I’m a bit more prudent when it comes to knowing how to do things. I’m not going to do something as brazen as just sail off without knowing anything about how to do it. It’s mid-August now and hurricane season is upon the state of Florida. I sail ‘Miss Conduct’ and sail her quite well. She is a Grampian 26 and suits me just fine. She’s my girl, I now have my writing and a well mapped out philantheosophy of life to share with the world. The Wordsmith gave me that and I hope to be a part of changing this world for the better, even if I don’t see any of them again…Seigh, if you read this…I love you, and I’m coming to find you…and slap you…!

THE WORDSMITH
It was the end of 2012 when his world came crashing down on him; his family was ripped apart by his obsession with the entity he dubbed, Loch Loa. This trickster was cunning, baffling, powerful and (in the Wordsmith’s mind) alive. Yet, day after day he took part in Loch Loa’s desire. The poison would gladly be ingested by the Wordsmith until everything around him had disappeared. There was nothing left but a blank slate to re-build an empire that could only have been imagined in the mind of a drunk. No one could have anticipated that so much thought about love could be manipulated by one person, and unknowingly by the person, at that. Deep down in the soul of the Wordsmith something had been brewing. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that what he was meant to do would mean so much to so many. Being credited for doing so was always far from his thoughts.
Often, the Wordsmith would find himself in a state of mind for self-reflection. Much of this time would be applied putting pen to paper. But, even in those times of repose, his mind was always wandering. It became frustrating to him that he couldn’t collect his thoughts rapidly enough to get a point across in a conversation. Even after getting as much out as he could, he had all but forgotten the point he was trying to make. It was futile for him to engage in hard-pressed conversations, so he found solace in writing his thoughts to be remembered for future engagements. Writing became the Wordsmiths greatest ally in changing the world, harnessing his imagination to mold a very real future out of a very fictitious adventure.
All the words eventually became meaningless; all the time spent in study, all the time spent in doing things the diligent blue collar way, all the politics, all the money, all the family, all the holidays, none of it mattered. No smiles, no joy, no sense of self-worth. No love, no hate. Just a cold, infinite world of apathy. The only joy that could be found was that he wanted to change the world. He had said for the better, and his intentions were as such. The way his words of his first book ‘The Omnist Tenets’ became twisted to mean something other than what they had intended, convinces me that he was a bit on the right path. By playing peacemaker and keeping a cold manner of being, he was least suspected. This is a very clever tactic used to fly under the radar of those that become suspicious.
Writing ‘The Omnist Tenets’ aided the Wordsmith on his journey towards a relatively new philantheosophy on how to live his life. That philantheosophy is called Omnism, and a person that practices Omnism is known as an Omnist. It is a fluid set of beliefs and principles derived from the good nature of our moral compasses. It does not mean that a person following this is in the right or wrong about anything. It teaches us to grow from good standards of teachings and belief, from all religions and sciences. An Omnist understands the basic principles of these various teachings and concludes that much of it is indeed a colorful combination of how to behave. The core dynamics of each system weren’t ever meant to be separated, rather, understood and enjoyed from taking various paths while enduring different aspects of each.
Hoping to use his words to blend together being an Indigo with the freedom/art/philosophy/science/religion of Omnism and living the life of an Omnist, ‘The Omnist Tenets’ came to be. So many people can be helped as long as they understand themselves; and so much has happened in order for the Wordsmith to finally understand himself. It’s hard to imagine anyone in the Wordsmith’s shoes not being nearly to the brink of mental exhaustion (as a struggling artist myself I can only hope to be able to live a life from that point of view), despite how hard it would seem too be able to wake up every morning. Being one of the first pioneers in anything can be frighteningly cruel. The Wordsmith carried the torch as best as he could, and was always willing to give others a chance at carrying it.
Those eyes, those jade green eyes. From the memory of lying next to him it’s those that come to mind most. How I was granted the ability of seeing into what a soul is. I saw what my soul could be and the Wordsmith let me in through those eyes. It was a scary world that resided in the confines of this man. It was unlike anything I had experienced with any other individual. There was neither love nor hate. No bitterness, just cold, empty and without existence. It was as if the Wordsmith could see into your soul and that instruction was happening without even saying a word. If, for some reason it scared you for a moment, you’d instantly be eased. Harmless really, but a very powerful characteristic to carry around with you all your life. And very lonely to come across few that could understand you weren’t bullshitting them when you explained this.
The eyes are indeed the windows to the soul and the Wordsmith knew how to use them. It was the Nothing that he tried to describe in ‘The Omnist Tenets.’ He was somehow able to tap into it and no matter how hard he attempted to steal away from it, it started to consume him. That distance from God that is spoken of in Christianity may be an easier comparison for most. One could call it hell, but I don’t exactly believe in hell (I’m an old testament God fearing girl myself). It was without form though, as if existence had stopped in the Wordsmith and all could be filled to the brim once again.
A vagabond, the Wordsmith would always quote Bernard Moitessier saying, “I am a citizen of the sea.” Bernard, a vagabond himself refused to beg and found a different way to live. The Wordsmith only found one thing wrong with writing a biblical story for Omnism, it was that there was, quite literally, nothing wrong with it. Omnism itself was a fluid set of philantheosophical beliefs that will always continue to have new passages added to it. That each and every individual is free to draw from everyone and everything that they feel is good. So long as no harm was intended and another person’s good feeling was not taken. This basic tenet is what the Wordsmith liked to call a garden and all that made you feel, good was tended to by you. This philantheosophy helps you better understand religion and science, so that you can perfect your art for freedom.
The Wordsmith had once stated “Why dictate from what most people expect from their own words. Why not write an entirely new prophetic book about one end of the journey to the other? Then, begin to live out the life that you wrote down. People will begin to see that you mean business. That you no longer abide by the rules that some crooked government has laid out in front of you. You owe no one a damn thing, and you’d be best to carry on with your life with the time you have. Follow that course of freedom, if that means you must plug away in some form of indentured servitude to pay your taxes and be a good old-fashioned law abiding citizen, then so be it. I’m not suggesting to break any laws, what I am saying is that the only thing confining any person from living a free life is swallowing the crap that is given to them. Once you become unfettered to society’s needs, you are free to bend society as you see fit. That’s what I am going to do. When the time comes, I intend to turn rain into lightening and watch the trails dance in the sky.”
Currently, most of us read and hear the words in our minds. Where-as if we read the same sentence aloud, it carries a different tune. The Wordsmith felt that there was a better way to go about getting what would be necessary to survive and live. The trail would be blazed and there was no notion of defeat in what most would view as a quite desperate situation. I can only guess for myself that this is still the way the Wordsmith lives. I haven’t seen much of him for some time. Though, here and there, I catch glimpses on-line, but they are merely his clay soldiers. The Wordsmith would dream and imagine a world as much as time would allow. In time, it would be brought to life. No matter how hard the situation seemed, the Wordsmith would always find a way through it. Sometimes accepting the generosity of others; most times accepting a draw of fate, and understanding that there was no other choice but to choose to make it through the current tribulation and succeed. Or die trying.
The Wordsmith is the one that taught me that Omnism is a philantheosophy that has no boundaries, and that it was what we made it out to be. So, that we may share our experiences with others, and so on and so on. So, that it may be known that Omnism is not entirely for one individual and that it is not about keeping power, but about sharing it. In between writing ‘The Omnist Tenets’ and seeing the vile nature of what the world had to offer, the Wordsmiths mind had been skewed. His spirit was saddened and he had been done with everything else in life save for bringing about the end of it, not for himself, but to share that desire of peace through destruction. In only this manner could world peace be achieved and he would watch the plumes of smoldering cities from the deck of the ‘Gina Marie’ as he fished for supper, and just waited to become target practice for some bored submarine in the waters of…wherever….
Others viewed the Wordsmith as a person losing his mind along the way. I prefer to believe that freedom had been found within the confines of one person defining their soul. Witnessing that brought a personal sense of peace to me. Those that came across the Wordsmith outside of myself may have seen signs, signs of a person breaking away from who they once were. The twist is that the Wordsmith wasn’t ever there in the first place. It was only a matter of time before certain people find a way to split themselves in two, and then three; the Wordsmith became aware of this and did a very reasonable job isolating it. It is indeed a form of madness, but it was madness that happened to be self-induced. Shaking hands with Loch Loa daily is something that many people can relate to, but few find a way to break away from this relationship without help.
The Wordsmith’s enemy was found best to be a part of something made up instead of being an aspect of status quo in the field of lunatics. To put it in simpler terms the Wordsmith wasn’t crazy, he drank too much that’s for sure. But that was only to quell the feeling of being too far ahead of the curve and waiting for someone to catch up. Working alone as one of the only Omnists wasn’t easy, especially when no one had ever even heard of Omnism. That alone would have sufficed, but living in the bible belt of southwest Florida and being scoffed at for coming up with a notion of obtaining world peace did a number on his psyche. He knew he couldn’t do it alone, he needed a queen. Alas, it was not me. I was merely there to satisfy the sting of loneliness.
Thankfully, in time, he met Silver Tongue and she took his side when I thought no one would have been able to. Thus, the responsibility of writing the tale of the Wordsmith had been handed over to me. Had he not vanished the way he did the odds are that he would still be drinking his life away in the middle of the Caloosahatchie River by the city that bore him.
I like to think that certain cells in the Wordsmith were sharing the secrets of immortality through words. Much the same way thoughts cross the mind and share a perspective of life that is about to change for the better, and all I am hoping is to be a part of paving a way for that. In other words, the Wordsmith knows to pass on this knowledge, so that it may be shared with others (the few currently with us) in the hopes that there may be more. So that we can all learn, grow spiritually, and evolve together in all ways, God included (not a God of any religion in particular). The hardest part is accomplishing this without exposing it in a manner of annoyance. (Emphasis over redundancy.) [sic]
I had always just looked at the Wordsmith as a person that seemed to know how to integrate life from word. But, there is so much more to Omnism outside of the Wordsmith. More than anything beyond the comprehension of intellect. Having to take on a venture like writing a book about a philantheosophy that attempts to make a one world religion is a feat in itself. It’s almost a cruel twist of fate that he was given the task to do it and not by other Omnists. I’m basically trying to say that he was appointed by, well…God….
The Wordsmith knows how to think, and that is a more important quality in life to have when it comes to the dynamics of a soul/garden. The Wordsmith knew how to recover from some of the most damaging of things that could happen to a person in life. I can only surmise that the length of life will run out for the Wordsmith. But…at the same time…it will continue into the understanding of immortality, not for renown, but rather, for the understanding of a better world existing in the confines of one person. So that that knowledge could carry on throughout time. The Wordsmith would always say “someone like me has to exist to understand that the darker things are only what we imagined; and that I could imagine things for better purposes than reality seems to convince us of. It’s simply how I live.” He sees with his heart first and trusted without naivety. The Wordsmith learned how badly betrayal hurt; how badly a broken heart felt and how it was all just a part of life. Beyond all learning experience, there is another learning experience. The Wordsmith decided to do the best thing and share this knowledge and teach it. For a better concept of the world to materialize one word at a time, because he imagines it will.
Life is beautiful flaws and all. Within those flaws (amid the pain), the Wordsmith learned how to find this beauty. For a person to live so deeply it did grant him a rather reclusive nature. Living alone, far away from anyone the Wordsmith knew, he learned to make friends and realized there was nothing left to lose, except for fear. The Wordsmith adored the anti-hero. I could closer assimilate the Wordsmith to a Silver Surfer, Riddick or a Dr. Manhattan. Just a normal individual all alone with a great understanding of their own personality and contributions to the world around him.
‘Pauper non en spe’ indeed, I am no longer “poor in hope.” I know now that the Wordsmith helped me find a way to disperse the darkest of things and turn them into light for their own personal greeting towards any aspect of sharing life. Not everyone can understand how to see things the way the Wordsmith did, but it’s there just the same, even if it is imagined, it is still a reality for some of us out there that care to see things in a better manner of being. That does not mean that we know better, it just means we imagine something better than what we are told. We are taught we have no choice but to succumb to this way of living and that is not the way the Wordsmith would care to live. That is not freedom, that is not endless opportunity. That is suppression of life, that is a decades long quarantine and the Wordsmith refused to kneel to structural, lying institutions.
The Wordsmith’s depth rivaled that of the sea, so much to understand and there seems to not be enough time. There’s nothing in these books that is more important than one life, but the words about Omnism may help to save at least one life, completing a duty to the human existence. The Wordsmith was always too happy to let the word responsibility be a bother. This kind of life was a blessing so that the times of being an asshole were put in the past and from those mistakes, the lesson of being a good person was learned, and earned. As a trailblazer, the Wordsmith only really knew the potential capability of how to handle a situation when it arose, there wasn’t ever really any particular direction for him other than moving forward.
You could make it up that it happens, or you could make it up like it has already happened, or you could make it up like it hasn’t happened at all. The point is, that there is Nothing that is impossible. Only not having it never happened at all, because what difference can we make if we start imagining that it all happens, instead of not happening (or even despite it all happening). It’s up to no one whether we choose to live or die. ‘The Omnist Tenets’ are a metaphor for how you choose to live your life. Respect each others past, because all we are taught, is equality is taught. See for yourself, learn and teach one another, there is no shame in sharing agony, only shame in lack of compassion.
We are all just a fool on a journey of their own, as the Wordsmith always used to say. The Wordsmith could see the beauty in life. The divine has no interference, because its limitations draw the same line as darkness, the difference is you can see it better in the light.

ENTER: SILVER TONGUE
My mind is restless and calm with the thought of the times our chests press together. In the tired passion of eyes that burn with weary tremors from the furies that yearn within our souls. Sitting now; wondering as my heart connects with thoughts of you in my mind. Droll and dreary the time seems to some, without you, that time…well…, it seems just fine. An act of brilliance and a stroke of color will go against most odds to find one-another. Decisions are made and all that’s to be will come true. Guided by intellect and of our past decisions we’ve kept locked in our little glass room, we’ll be honest (not liars) so there will be no big fires; when push comes to shove, we’ll break through.
Striving to be masters in what we do, our collective minds drift away so we can adore being strange; in ways of precision that most don’t quite get, there’s things about us that we cannot neglect. As individuals, we know how to survive. But it’s just as good, and in fact it’s better, when we find that admirer that defines alive.
I must tell you something that does not involve your hair; something more deeply personal, that I’d like to share. I know a lover, not yet my lover, but one I’ve come to know; one whose words have taught me much, yet, one I’ve yet to touch. In time, I hope to meet this love, directly, face-to-face. So, that I may tell them, until now, love’s been my saving grace. So, that we may dissolve into time and meld unto the stars. So, when we see the universe we know it is ours. To share this time in patient distance knowing only how to yearn. It has taught me this; reminded me, from love I cannot turn.
After the tryst that had been made between the Wordsmith and myself I had known that the visit to the city that night would bring about a change in his heart, a change for the better. One that I could not seem to imprint on him. I knew she would be singing, and I knew he would feel love at first sight. She was all he was looking for in another to share his life with. She wasn’t his Gina Marie (she was a gift. From: Life To: Death), she was more. Together I knew they would form a bond; (so long as both Silver Tongue and the Wordsmith didn’t go and drink it all up) together, they would carry out the dream of Omnistocria.
Her voice carried through the doors of The Blue Room and out into the sultry night. Both the Wordsmith and I heard it simultaneously and I looked up at him. I could tell that he was captivated. The siren was doing what she was born to do, and with that I knew I had lost the Wordsmith. Because I knew I couldn’t compete with a voice as divine as hers, and it was very rare that that look made its way onto his face. He was entranced and had to know who it was, his pace quickened and I took his hand and led him to where I knew she would be.
We entered the room and she was performing a song that I was unfamiliar with, it didn’t really matter. She could take some garbage, non-sense song and turn it into something that captivated any audience. I could tell that the Wordsmith was fighting the feeling that had overcome him. Considering the situation I reminded him that sometimes things like this were meant to be. I told him that I had brought him here because I wanted him to meet her. The rest now was up to him, and he rose to the occasion.
I let him go into the crowd, so that he could find his place among the rabble, and so that she would somehow find him. How I knew this is beyond me, but there was something about the Wordsmith that drew the right people in when it was needed most. He said that’s how he decided he wanted me in his life. Not that he willed it to happen, but that he felt it happen the moment he saw me. That he, for some unknown reason knows people that are going to impact him in some way. But, he doesn’t ever know the outcome until he gets crushed. You shouldn’t ever have to force a person to make a decision that involves love. The answer will come in time. Patience and tolerance is the key to accomplishing this. An answer thought of with love in mind is rarely wrong about anything.
She completed her set and walked off the small stage. No one ever enjoyed going up after her because they knew that there was no way to top the natural beauty of her voice. So, what would typically happen after she is finished, is that whatever musicians are left to play follow her up with some simple tuning, as too say, “yeah, we are almost ready, just getting our shit together to blow the roof off of this place.” Too late though, it just happened.
Silver Tongue stayed humble and walked with grace every time. She didn’t dress flashy, it was almost always as if she sprang to life from off the bohemian wall art and decided to sing. Now, I wanted to witness the moment their eyes met, but I couldn’t see where the Wordsmith had stolen away to. I only knew the direction by her mannerisms as she walked down the steps. I saw her head turn slightly and felt a shift in the mood of the room. She had drawn him there (with a little help from yours truly) and he had done whatever it is he does, to grab her attention.
Through the crowd, he and Silver Tongue came. He was in front of her and she followed with a smile on her face while people told her how much they loved her voice. The Wordsmith came to the bar first and I saw a smile on his face that I hadn’t thought existed. His eyes were brighter than I had ever seen them before and a twinge of sadness crept across my being. It didn’t last though, Silver Tongue came up and gave me a hug, she whispered thank you softly into my ear and just like that the moment of sadness subsided. For once in some time I felt like I had done something right. The Wordsmith told me that they were going to go for a walk. I smiled and told him my car was parked nearby and that I wanted to hear all the juicy details in the morning.
They left, so I did what I wanted, I turned and looked forward to my night with Loch Loa. First a shot of vodka followed by a bourbon. Then a beer to wash them down and a glass of wine to finally keep some sophistication about me (I am a lady after all). “Cheers to Loch Loa and his horsemen!” The rest of my night could have ended up as a salute to loneliness, had Seigh not mustered up the courage to finally approach me. But, that’s something I prefer to keep set aside for another story.

EXIT: MS. ABRAMS
Several days had passed and I heard little from the Wordsmith. I didn’t go looking for him and I didn’t really have any expectations for him to call me right away. I didn’t feel as though I had been cast aside, I felt as though I had moved on to what it was I was meant to do. I did finally get to spend time with the two of them and I could see firsthand how wonderful they were together. She complimented him perfectly, she was his Babylon, she was Silver Tongue. She spoke where he could not. She was the social butterfly that the Wordsmith needed. She was his strength where there was weakness and she filled a void that was missing (she was also good at talking when he was trying to write, so it fit perfectly). What he could do with words in print, she did verbally, and that accentuated his very fiber. A match made in heaven and a union upon which to build Omnistocria. His queen to protect him, the strongest piece on his chessboard. The Wordsmith had met an equal, and oh how they fought.
The Wordsmith welcomed her in a way (that I could only guess from what he had told me) that he once welcomed his long dead love. She was far more beautiful than he ever would have expected and it was out of nowhere that she appeared. It was not the same as it had been with anyone prior to her. She was different in regards to the feelings that he had before. She was ebony and far darker than what his normal taste would have likened him to. With eyes to compliment her skin she could see into you without you knowing. She matched him in depth and it was someone that he knew he could take under his wing from the moment he laid eyes on her. She too, was an indigo and she changed everything for him. She helped him to think more clearly about what it was he wanted to do with life. About how it was OK to feel the dark feelings that he had. About how he was not running, only building a wave for others to ride, and that they would see him without seeing him. She was all he needed to know and he trusted her more than he had trusted anyone. She was free, and that set him free.
Her laughter filled rooms but more-so it filled the empty spaces that people had inside of them. It filled them with joy as she expressed her own being into a shared thought. Time evaporated into her and it was instant acceptance no matter where they went. They were a team, people could see that one was light and one was dark. The irony in that was the tone of their skin was opposite to what they each represented. She was more on the side of a hope that the Wordsmith once possessed. This would encapsulate their many different debates, in which, Silver Tongue would easily out talk him. He appreciated this far more than she ever noticed, had he possessed the glorious nature of quick speech he would have decimated her. Thankfully, it was a weakness and she knew exactly where to apply the right touch, with a tender sleight of wordplay.
The level of uncertainty disappeared and the not knowing aspect of life didn’t matter after a certain amount of time. Once they figured out how to let go of what no longer mattered they would be able to take over the world. They would be able to remain nameless as a couple of vagabonds that brought about the collapse of an unacknowledged dystopia. A new civilization would be built on the spirit of their thoughts. They were all right when it boiled down to a matter of fact.
“I met you when I’d least expected it.” I had overheard the Wordsmith say to her. “I haven’t thought about pride in quite some time, having any, or even acknowledging it. I simply stopped feeling it one day and what replaced it was happiness in apathy. A dim twilight is how we spend our days, in moments of what others may see as a gentle haze. I get lost in your laughter and your precise words. The way you speak is something I admire.” His words would touch her in ways that she had never been touched before. To her, he gave a sense of self-worth. Prior to him she had been made to feel worthless. Tossed aside like an unappreciated heap of a person. He listened to her once she taught him how to do so. He could see that she needed him as much as he needed her.
I cried the day they left. I cried harder than I had ever cried in my life. I had someone so brilliantly beautiful in front of me, for such a brief period. And now he was gone. The world was gray save for his writing. The job that the Wordsmith had left for me to accomplish. To write his story of who he is and how he lives. About how much an Omnist inspired me into being something more than just a piece of shit that settled for a life with a drunk. He gave me freedom, he gave me hope, he gave me a smile and courage. He made me feel all the things that I thought were once silly and just spoken about by people in movies. This is my testament of the Wordsmith. Not so much the man, but the things that he made me feel.
I laugh now when I think about them lying together and eating clementines, watching movies and smelling each others’ farts. That’s the kind of love that I am looking for. I am following suit and I want to be a part of the nation of Omnistocria. I want to contribute to a world at peace and be a founding person. I want to add to the doctrines of ‘The Omnist Tenets’ and I want to bust the system that once kept me confined. I want the world to see that there is freedom out there if you are willing to work for it. I want the world to know that you don’t have to live on a boat to find this, you must live as beautifully as a person that has found freedom without money.

SEIGH PTEN
I started small. When all the cities were the same, all the places remained and all the things yet to do were beyond my lifetime indeed. All that I’ve endured helped me to understand a lot of what I would be capable of accomplishing in my lifetime. Those things have taught me how to create a self-sustained way of living. I supply my own water, my own food, and my own electricity. I am a minimalist just like the Wordsmith. I too, chose to live on a boat and its name is ‘Shadow.’ It has proven to be quite a challenge, but, a rewarding endeavor that all should attempt someday. Not necessarily living on a boat, but living for themselves. To see that it is possible to do this without the need of a government.
‘Shadow’ was a wonderful modified cutter rig. A 33′ Islander that I painted mostly black. On the starboard side, I had enough black paint left to do about half of it, so instead I opted to do a design resembling piano keys, it was comical to me. Black happens to be a peculiar color for a boat due to the heat. It attracts heat not only from the sun, but from local fuzz as well. The piano key paint job became even more comical after I found sails. They had treble clefts stitched into them and all I could think to say to strangers when they asked the meaning behind them was, “seeing ‘Shadow’ in the distance, they would notice music in the horizon.”
The people at Prosperity Point were all very nice, but I have a hard time fitting in anywhere I set foot. Not that I was not nice and polite, myself. I just didn’t make myself very visible. Being a greenhorn and having little sailing experience I was also rather shy and embarrassed. I’m stubborn enough to want to learn as I go by making my own foolish mistakes, and when it comes to single hand sailing, any number of mistakes could be your last. I preferred this feeling as well because it kept me on my toes (not to mention alive).
‘Shadow’ became mine on a handshake with the owner of Prosperity Point, in regards that I maintain the grounds, and do any work I could offer to the boats coming in. Most of which being a handyman service and some minimal carpentry skills with the tools I had at my disposal. I fixed the dryer, mowed the grounds, offered tech skills to those in need of repairing their computers. I climbed to the tops of masts and ran electrical wires to those that cared little for being strapped into a bosun’s chair. I scraped barnacles in shark infested waters. I sanded and repainted the docks, as well as, the decks of derelict boats the marina would be willing to re-sell. I continued my part time job at the local supermarket to earn a small living for food and scrape together enough to afford the repairs I had to make on ‘Shadow.’
Most of the repairs needed were minor. ‘Shadow’ needed a new set of sails which I managed to save enough money for. I purchased them from a little old lady that happened to be in between the two-mile foot-hoof to and from work. Her husband was a drummer and had recently passed, she was just clearing out much of their old belongings and I happened to be in the right place, when she was bringing the sails out of her garage. Here, I jumped to the conclusion that she was just getting rid of her dead husband’s belongings. It just so happened to be something else.
I remember her saying in a rather soft voice. “Oh, my Sparky was a sailor in the navy, he didn’t care much for boats after that. Our son had a sailboat some time ago and these sails are what’s left. His father had them custom made and the kid only got out a handful of times. Eventually, he realized it was too much work for him and that booze, was a much more important commodity than freedom. He has long since vanished, and I haven’t heard a word from him in two years. He even missed his own father’s funeral. What kind of son does that?”
[Me, I thought to myself.]
That aside, I purchased the sails at a reasonable price. I took them back to ‘Shadow’ and right away had to know if they fit. It was one of the most exciting days of my life raising those sails. Thankfully, the wind was light and I could get away with putting them up without causing any kind of damage. They fit wonderfully, and I got laughed at for the design on them. However, I found it rather brilliant. Music on the horizon! I still laugh when I think about it. I had a working jib, a storm jib and a mainsail. All the sails I needed for a cutter, unfortunately the genoa I had stowed needed a lot of stitching to be even close to functionality. But, I knew in time I would have it done.
I ferreted away hand tools that I knew would come in…well…, in handy. I stored gallons and gallons of water along with the 35-gallon hold that I filled at the marina. I had pump faucets that would draw water up, I had a small camping grill that was fueled by propane. I stowed canned vegetables and dried goods as often as I could get my hands on them. I managed to save enough to build a small bank of house batteries and found a 100-watt solar panel at a nearby flea market I would use to charge them. I had a little 9 horsepower outboard that I lucked into and reluctantly got running, along with a hand operated water maker that I received in payment for some barnacle scraping (a sweet deal mind you, I think the man feared for my life due to the bull sharks in the area). My dinghy was a little kayak that someone left behind after their boat had sunk in the middle of the Calloosahatchie. The cracks and holes were patched with duct tape and a rudimentary fiberglass repair job, but it didn’t take on any water and A to B was all I needed.
My departure that day would have been viewed as rather abrupt. A week prior I had finished my duties at the marina, and finalized some work that I had promised to finish for some fellows that had just purchased a nice sized liveaboard. The owner told me it was OK with him if I wanted to stick around and work on ‘Shadow’ in the slip, I told him I would think about it because I did like it there. What prompted me to leave so suddenly was this need to finally just overcome my self-doubt and throw caution to the wind. Over the nine-month span of time that I was there I could pare off the things that I no longer needed.
I decided to go when I realized that working day in and day out was taking its toll on me as a good human being. Hearing all the time that this is what you’re supposed to be doing did not sit well with what I felt as though I should be doing. I didn’t long for that sought after managerial position, or that upper-echelon of supervisors whose asses I wondered they had kissed to get where they were. There was no envy or aspiration for me to do that. I simply wanted to be free and one day I realized the only thing keeping me from being such was my own self-doubt. I departed on April 1st 2015 (the joke was in the thought that I’d be back) and didn’t look back at the marina I had called home for nearly a year.
I decided to motor East towards Lake Okeechobee, I figured at least this way I could get some basic maneuvers under my belt and finally get firsthand experience with tacking and jibing while staying out of some rougher waters. I could drop anchor when I got tired, and run the motor if there was no wind. Once to Okeechobee I could be in a bit more of an open environment. I could take the ICW out to the Atlantic, where I would then head North. Why? Is beyond me. I think because hurricane season was approaching Florida and I wanted to steer as far out of the way as I could think to go, until I got to Charleston.
I had about $1000 cash which I knew wouldn’t get me very far in the long run, I stayed vigilant in not spending anything though, unless I absolutely needed to. I happen to be very stingy with my dollars and cents, along with that, I re-purpose items and love to fish. Doing all of this happens to require permits that I didn’t have, let alone a legal boat. I was lucky enough to have dodged a few bullets when authorities just passed me by. The paint job drew attention. But, it was good attention in these waters, and other sailors enjoyed tethering up with me and asking questions about ‘Shadow.’ This meant that because of the respect that I held with a certain fellowship of people, most of the patrols would just wave or ignore me all-together.
I took a heuristic approach to maneuvering ‘Shadow’ and once I felt comfortable at the helm, he sailed perfectly. I stayed at anchor when it would rain, I would paddle back and forth to shore whenever I needed to resupply my provisions. Most times this was a bit of an effort considering I had to store everything in an oversized hiking pack, paddling it back was always an adventure as well. Kayaks are rather easy to tip so it was always a balancing act with anything I had to bring aboard. I must have looked ridiculous.
Since it was only me I could use the water maker daily without worry of the bladder getting rotted with bacteria. So, that was a chore that would keep me occupied for much of the trip. Another chore that kept me busy for the first month was patching up the gennie sail. Once I had completed it though it was nice to see it in action. ‘Shadow’ had come equipped with a nice furling system which made life much easier when single handing a cutter rig.
About mid-May I arrived at Okeechobee. Having the luxury of some open water was nice, I was down to my last gallon of fuel and became a bit concerned considering the weather had not been ideal for a greenhorn like me to sail in. Once I was in the open I mucked around enough to get the basics down. Close reach, broad reach, runs. The books I read instructed perfectly on how to operate a sailboat. But, I’m a hands-on kind of fellow and I learned best by fucking things up a couple of times.
I ran aground once and a nice couple was there to tow me out. The boats name was ‘Lili’s Pad’ and the captain had sold his sailboat some fifteen years prior. I invited him to come aboard for old-time’s sake and he obliged. I told him how new I had been to sailing and he wanted to know how stupid I was. We had a laugh at this and he was happy to share his wisdom with me. It was nice to have some fare company for a bit and I cooked us all a lunch of scrambled eggs and hot dogs. We ate on the cockpit and afterwards he helped me set up my bimini properly. So that I wouldn’t be sitting out in the sun cooking while I sailed. That was a lousy situation turned into a beneficial and memorable moment of my life.
After a few days of awkward seamanship, I finally took to mastering ‘Shadow’ (at least on a lake) and felt comfortable enough to head out towards the ICW and take into the Atlantic. I took a few extra days to do some fishing and resupply on food and propane. I made my way to the campgrounds along the shore to stock up on some more dry goods. All this and the enjoyment of the scenery along the hiking trails.
Once I was ready I made my way out the St. Lucie Canal and towards Stuart, FL where I anchored for a few more days. I talked to some other boaters there and they all asked the same question that ‘Lili’s Pad’ had, they wanted to know how stupid I was. Again, all I could do was laugh and for the most part agree. I kept reminding myself that these people were typically out for a day trip or a weekend retreat. When the weekend ended, they all went home to their recliners and 56” televisions to watch the news, sports or, whatever was popular on the tube. Not that I think there is anything wrong with this. It’s just that once you learn how useless television is, you don’t ever regret not watching it.
Once on the Atlantic it was considerably more challenging. The waves alone made it more interesting when ‘Shadow’ was at anchor. The bobbing back and forth helped put me to sleep, but boiling water was now out of the question. At least it was summer and the weather was nice enough to where I could enjoy the sun, especially now that the bimini was in a much better position. I took to writing in composition pads and that soaked up much of the time. Mostly shitty poetry here and there and a rough draft to some epic poem that would pop into my head I titled ‘Jordyn’s Exodus.’ It was about a guy named after myself that happened to have an extraordinary power on how to shape reality. Ultimately, he caused an inadvertent apocalypse since he had no idea the power of his kids’ imaginations. Basically, I should have been logging down my trip, but I felt it more fun to write stories of fiction and ramble on about the birds and the bees and their absence at the seas.
There wasn’t much about FL that I had missed. It was hot, Ft. Myers was a shit-hole. If the sharks and gators didn’t eat you then whatever flesh eating bacteria making its way through the Gulf of Mexico would. If you had some open wounds and a less than adequate immune system, that is. Memories of a person would come back to me from time to time. She was a singer at ‘The Blue Room’ that would sing there on open mic night. Most times I would see her there with some fellow that I recognized from Prosperity Point. He didn’t live there, but he would come in from time to time and leave through the gates. Most people called him the Wordsmith and I would catch a twinge of jealousy every time I saw him leaving with my favorite singer, Clarity.
I couldn’t figure out at first what she may have seen in him. They wouldn’t ever show up together and many nights, the Wordsmith, would already be there when I arrived. He’d be sitting at the bar with a full beer and his head in a composition pad writing away. He wore glasses that were scratched beyond repair and the right arm was bound with electrical tape holding it to the frame. His hair used to be long but one day at the marina I saw him with a roughly shaved head (he must have done it himself) catching a couple of zings from the guys at the dock that knew him. He didn’t ever go out dressed to impress, of course, neither did I so I couldn’t knock him for this. He wore a fisherman’s hat most of the time and liked to walk despite having a car parked at the marina. He stood about the same height as me at 5’10.” He had these eyes that would make you feel as if he was seeing into you.
I mustered up the courage one night to ask him what he was writing about. He was so drunk that I could hardly make out a word he was saying, turned out it was ‘The Omnist Tenets.’ At the time, he called it ‘I Omnist.’ I didn’t know what an Omnist was at the time, and I didn’t take any of it seriously, I could have cared less. I just scoffed it off as some other drunk talking non-sense and looking to make a fortune. That’s when Clarity arrived and I could finally get a chance to talk to her.
I’ll admit I was relieved to hear that they weren’t a couple. I was also surprised to find out that Clarity was at the tail-end of a lousy marriage, and that the Wordsmith was giving her some direction in life (and giving her a place to stay on his boat in the mean-time). It turned out he had sympathy for her situation, her husband had been running around on her with her sister and the Wordsmith had been through a somewhat similar scenario. She explained to me that he wasn’t looking for love, only freedom. At the time, I didn’t know what she meant by that, but once I discovered it for myself it made more sense to me. I guess you could say, I was given some clarity.
Omnism didn’t become much of a pursuit for me until I woke up one morning to see the ‘Gina Marie’ was no longer anchored in the river. During the weeks that passed I no longer saw the Wordsmith at The Blue Room, it wasn’t until a month went by that Clarity finally decided to start singing there again. I thought she had vanished with him, I was happy to see that she hadn’t. When she finished that night, she approached me and we had picked up like we hadn’t missed a beat. She told me mostly of what her path had become upon finding a place of her own. She told me about how the Wordsmith had left with a singer there called, Silver Tongue, (who I had only seen perform once or twice) and that she had no idea where he went. Only that he spoke of sailing west.
Clarity and I came to know one another over the course of the next several months. She too, fell in love with the liveaboard lifestyle and ended up spending more and more time on ‘Shadow’ with me. Eventually she just completely neglected her place all together, sold her things, kept the sentimental stuff and bought her own boat for $500 from a marina around the corner. It was much smaller than ‘Shadow’ at about 25′ and she named it ‘Miss Conduct’ which I thought rather fitting due to her loose cannon personality. It fit the woman perfectly though, it had all the sails and a little outboard motor. The most that she had to do was clean her up and make it a home for herself.
The Wi-Fi at the marina was far from the best. The one thing I wish I would have picked up before I left was a Wi-Fi antenna, but I did happen to do all the research I could on Omnism while I was there. Clarity had given me her insight and personal feelings about the philantheosophy, as well as, what the Wordsmith had taught her. There was so little on the subject and what I found made sense to me. The Urban Omnist really helped to shed a lot of light on the subject for me. He was educated and spoke on a down to earth level that was easily relate-able. I would sit and watch his videos and hope to one day shake his hand. I found myself becoming more and more of an Omnist, and through Omnism I found that I was simply becoming the person I was meant to be. I’m not much for titles, but I did love the idea of honing a belief system with no real boundaries. I could make a part of it my own and I could contribute what little I had to offer to Omnism, and no one would know who I was…I liked that feeling, freedom in obscurity….
It was easier for me to leave than it would be for most people. I had no ties to anyone (except for Clarity) my son was north in Indiana and the chances of me seeing him again were nil, since I had been run out of my hometown by my ex-wife and her band of misfits and meth addicts. I’m guessing that is why I really headed north, for some reason I thought maybe I would be able to see him again. I always held onto a hope of that. But, I knew the chances were slim considering I was poor, had no address, no phone, no money, and no way of supporting my boy. Hope is basically all we’ve got.
Initially, I had no destination when I departed. I romanticized about it turning into some kind of suicide run to Amsterdam so I could just smoke freely and have as much freakish…uh, pleasures…as my ruined heart desired. However, it’s funny what life throws at you when you least expect it. The more I thought about Omnism the more I came to realize who I was, who I am, and who I hope to be. It helped me begin to understand and accept how little I do know about anything. I came to appreciate that about life, it keeps me curious, involved and most importantly, understanding I’m flawed in all aspects of my life. The older you get the sooner you realize the true value of life, and that value, is unteachable to others. At each moment, you are learning something and so are those watching, that’s what makes us all unique.

KING OF QUILLS
It was nearing the end of September and the weather was going to get much colder on the Delaware. I had no winter clothing so I was getting nervous about how I would handle the fall and winter months of the northern states. I hadn’t ever been here before but I knew Indiana would see some lousy weather with a biting cold. I dropped anchor just south of the Walt Whitman bridge. Philadelphia to port and a town called Gloucester City at starboard. Commercial shipyards were all I could see from Philly save for some of the larger buildings in the distant skyline. Gloucester was littered with run-down factories in kind of a no man’s land that once thrived long ago, but now stood as a graveyard and a bleak reminder of an industrious time.
I decided just above these factories would be ideal to get ashore. There is a park I spotted on the Gloucester side that I could kayak into and go pick up some much-needed supplies. I had little money left and I wanted to stay away from the city as much as I could. I could go broke in an instant with the prices they probably charged, and there really wasn’t anywhere to paddle into that looked safer than what Gloucester had to offer. I threw my newly inherited satchel over my shoulder and splashed my dinghy into the water. I used to always hate this part, I had tipped my kayak nearly every time until, ‘Lili’s Pad’ suggested I stabilize it with the davit and it was a wonderful tip, none the less still all-together tricky.
Just like any river park there was a barricade of cement to get around. It was low tide so I jumped ashore with my kayak en-tow. The river rocks were always slippery so I had to be careful. I found my way up and about a half-mile down there was a foot-path, just like anywhere else I had been. I tied off my kayak and, as always, hoped that it would still be there when I got back. This was always a gamble for me, but I had little choice other than to take it. It was still warm enough to swim, but this Delaware River water is dirty. I tied my kayak up to a tree and clamored up the footpath, that I can only imagine, had been used a thousand times over by the local drunks. It was a good hiding spot with lots of empty 40oz. Bottles and dingy Kassar’s pints.
I reached the top and blended myself into the path along the river. I could see cars parked along the barricade and looking at what the drivers had probably thought of as some kind of a view. It was industry at its finest. Smokestacks and shipping cranes with a smell of something toxic burning off in the distance. They probably hadn’t noticed though, assuming they were the local Gloucestorians. The nicest part of this park was the gazebo towards the center. It had about a hundred steps leading up to it and they encircled the entire structure. I decided to mosey up there and have a seat to collect myself and possibly, get a vantage point of the street as best as I could.
I took an easy pace with my head down as I got to the top, narrow steps suck!
“Brisk paddle from music.” A deep voice said, giving me a start. I must have walked right passed him. I looked up and, for a second, I had to rub my eyes to be sure they weren’t playing tricks on me. It was the Wordsmith. He was sitting on the bench that wrapped the gazebo and faced the river peeling an orange. “A-fuckin-hoy!” Exclaimed I.
“Looks like the Port Authority took notice of your boat. I hope you’ve got your credentials.” I turned towards the direction of ‘Shadow,’ only to see that he had indeed drawn some attention that I didn’t currently need. “Only a matter of time before they call the fuzz. I suppose you could call this fate. I haven’t been here in years, you might be in luck, Seigh.” I didn’t ever panic, but this was a damn scary situation for me. I had little choice but to follow the Wordsmith’s composure.
He offered up the seat beside him and I accepted. From the gazebo, we watched as ‘Shadow’ became the center of attention for some bored Patrol that saw an opportunity to make a name for themselves. I told the Wordsmith that I’m in a world of shit if I lose that boat. He acknowledged that Gloucester is not the best place to be up shits creek without a paddle. He made a phone call which only took a matter of minutes. For the next fifteen minutes or so we sat and watched as the patrols put the pieces together of where ‘Shadow’s’ occupant may have drifted off too. We could see them with their binoculars spotting my kayak and radioing to, what I could only guess had to be ‘the fuzz,’ as the Wordsmith put it.
A few minutes later the cops cruised up to where I stumbled ashore. “Time to face the music maestro.” The Wordsmith said sarcastically, raising his eyebrows. He stood, flipped his hood over the hair that had grown back and started walking towards the excitement, I followed.
Once we got to the “scene of the crime” the Wordsmith explained to the officers that he had arranged for the sailboat to be hauled out of the water. That his man was on the way and would be there within a couple of hours. They radioed back to the port authority and just like that they were on their way, away from ‘Shadow,’ a calm filled me and the butterflies took flight out of my stomach. “Just make sure you get that boat out of here ASAP. That’s a heavy shipping lane and this guy’s lucky it wasn’t towed!” Spoken in a cop-like, authoritative fashion.
“Yes-sir, a matter of hours’ officer.” The Wordsmith responded in a light, matter-of-fact tone.
We sat back at the gazebo and waited, I didn’t know what to say, this came as a bit of a shock to me. Had he not been there I would have been completely lost. He spoke little, asked little. If he hadn’t recognized me what would have happened, I wondered. Later I would come to find out it wasn’t me he recognized, it was ‘Shadow.’ Within a couple of hours the truck appeared and the Wordsmith made his way towards it; I, once again, followed.
The man and his son exited the truck, a kid no older than twelve. The Wordsmith shook his hand and explained to him the situation. He introduced himself as Bob. I learned that his son liked to be called Jet. They explained to me what they were going to do. Bob took his zodiac from out of the back of the flatbed stowage and inflated it. He then attached a small outboard and took to the loading ramp at the end of the Delaware River Park. Jet boarded and kept it tied up to the dock while Bob went back and got his truck. He pulled it over and backed it into the river, I couldn’t believe it!
He left the truck running and hopped into the zodiac. Then, he and Jet quickly motored over to ‘Shadow.’ I watched as Bob boarded him, and Jet handed an A-frame up to him. In a matter of a half an hour I watched as Bob un-stepped ‘Shadow’s’ mast…down it went…. From there, he pulled up the anchors and ‘Shadow’ was making his way towards us, with Bob at the helm. Once getting close enough they tied ‘Shadow’ off to the posts at each side of the ramp keeping him centered. Bob got into the zodiac and made his way back to shore and his truck. From there he pulled some levers and up ‘Shadow’ went. At this point, there was an array of onlookers watching the spectacle as if waiting for some misfortune to happen, I was simply in awe, I hadn’t ever seen the process of laying up a boat done this way.
‘Shadow’s’ stern raised out of the water and, for the first time, I could see the bottom of him; he was covered in barnacles, it looked like how I imagined some awful skin disease would look. Bob hopped back into his truck and yelled, “moment of reckoning!” That’s when the butterflies realized they must have forgotten something. Bob pulled the truck forward and I saw ‘Shadow’ slowly coming towards us and rising from the water, following Bob’s truck like some kind of…shadow…and out he came. For the first time in as long as I have known ‘Shadow,’ he was out of the water. I could see all of him, and as ugly as it looked, it made me love my boat even more.
I looked over to see the Wordsmith helping Jet roll up the zodiac and put it back in the stowage compartment. Afterwards, Bob approached and I heard the Wordsmith tell him the destination was the same as last time. “C’mon Seigh, I’ll give you a ride to ‘Shadow’s’ new ‘temporary’ home.” Bob and Jet pulled forward and the Wordsmith and I walked. I watched as the truck hauled ‘Shadow’ through the long exit out of the park and down a worn road in the direction I had seen the factories. (I felt as if the truck should have had a name, poor thing, all that work, and no name.)
We arrived at the Wordsmith’s car and the first words that came out of my mouth were “I hope you know I don’t have any money to afford all of this.”
“Pay it forward, Seigh. It looks like both you and your musical number could use a bit of relief, I’m happy to help.” He unlocked the door to his little black car, got in leaned across and unlocked mine.
“How’s Clarity?” This caught me a bit off guard and I wasn’t quite sure how to answer, I hadn’t spoken to her since before I left FL. He could seem to sense my discomfort and laughed a bit. “OK. I’ll go smaller, tell me about your trip?” That was far easier to answer, so I told him.

KNIGHT OF PENTACLES
The ride was mostly congestion and ugly highway until we finally got into what looked like some more rural areas. The Wordsmith explained to me that he had grown up in that town, that all the factories I had seen were indeed abandoned (save for maybe two) and that the road was named Water St. He said he used to swim in the Delaware when he was younger. I could only guess he meant a few years ago, I was astonished to find out the guy was thirty-five years old. He looked like he was early to mid-twenties at the most. Incidentally, his youthful appearance was due to working in coolers for the past fifteen years as a meat cutter. The cold air had apparently preserved him (evidently so did swimming in that scummy water). Aside from Clarity, sailing, and testing our immune systems in nasty water, that’s the other thing we had in common…retail….
We drove for about a half an hour and I had a hard time believing how quickly NJ had went from some crippled industrial capital, to Smallville wherever. It was as if all the traffic had vanished in a moment and everything that surrounded us, the noise, the smell of exhaust, the sound of the road, all of it had just…went away…. The Wordsmith took a left turn crossing a median, tucked away behind a little propane filling station I could see a rundown box truck surrounded by overgrown weeds and two tractor-trailers. One truck was Bob’s, along with it ‘Shadow’ was already being set on boat jacks. I missed the whole process of dropping my boat on the hard. It was as sad to miss that as it was to miss all the stupid holiday assemblies I missed at my boy’s school.
It was, however, all very exciting for me looking through the windshield of that little black hoop-d. The Wordsmith put it in park and got out of his car. Again, I followed with my satchel still around my shoulder out of sheer habit. As I rounded the car I could see tucked away behind the worn-down box truck was ‘Gina Marie,’ poking her bow out at me. I had only ever seen her from a distance but I recognized her right away from the dark blue of her hull. I had always thought she was larger, it turned out ‘Shadow’ was longer than her by a full five feet, not including his bowsprit which added another three feet. She was a simple sloop and was only a 27-footer, a Hunter model.
She was beautiful though and the Wordsmith kept her cherry, the netting around the lifelines added a ghost ship appearance as it did to any boat that had them, for some reason though, hers seemed far more haunting. All the lines had been rolled up, tied and thrown over the side to prevent mildew from stowage. The life jackets were hung as well. She had been winterized and sitting up on jacks. That’s when it hit me, how the hell did the Wordsmith and ‘Gina Marie’ end up here? I was given the impression that he had sailed her west. So, I blurted it out before I could bite my tongue.
“I did head west. Both Silver Tongue and I decided it best to change course and head to Charleston where she had some family that she wanted to visit. We spent a few months anchored there. Once the time came we decided to head north. She and I also have family here and I figured I would have one last go at reconciliation to see my daughter. My brother knew Bob and he could haul my girl out of the water so that I could re-fit her to be a bit cozier. I’m going to hole up here until April and then I should be on my way. My book is taking off and people are becoming more aware of Omnism. So, I’m hoping that that will grant me enough income that I can finally quit my job and just sail the world as I see fit.” He said this behind a coy smile, I knew little about the man, but I could tell he had something up his sleeve.
Bob made his way over and I saw the Wordsmith hand him a wad of twenties. I felt a little ashamed about the fact that I couldn’t pay him myself. He shook the Wordsmith’s hand, looked over to me, waved, nodded and off he went.
The Wordsmith turned and said. “I do apologize for the swiftness of how all of this happened, I probably should have asked first instead of assuming about the paperwork on your boat. But, I went with my gut and your look told me a lot already.”
“Oh, no apologies needed. If anything, I’m grateful and you’re right about the look. I’m far from ready for the winter up here and I have been racking my brain for about a week now as to what I’m going to do about ‘Shadow’.” (Clearly, this was not the most well thought out trip, but I loved this journey thus far all the same.)
“Cool name, makes sense. I dig the keyboard.”
“I figured it would be a hit in Amsterdam. You know, music on the horizon.” It had just occurred to me at that moment that it had been nearly a month since I had spoken this much to anyone. The sound of my own voice kind of paralyzed my mind for a moment.
“Amsterdam? That’s a heck of a trip. Not to pry, but don’t you have a son?”
“How did you know?”
“It’s amazing what you pick up at the end of a bar. The ambient noise would help me write a lot and whenever something relative would be heard, my ears would zero in on it. It just so happened that night we spoke I overheard you and Clarity, I remember quite a lot despite being drunk off my ass. Thankfully my drinking days are behind me. Hey, listen though, I have some things I have to take care of and I’m going to be gone for a few hours. I’m not sure how you have ‘Shadow’ set up but there’s a little ma and pa shop up the pike about a mile if you wanted to get some grub. There’s also a Korean restaurant across the street if you want to have a sit down and some fine cuisine. You good on cash?”
“Yeah, I have some money.”
“OK. Make yourself comfy here, try to stay as low-key as you can, technically it’s illegal for us to be here. Off grid living is a bit unheard of in these parts. I love disregarding borders and governmental restrictions though. This place would make a fine Omnist Diary, but, oh well for now. See you in a few hours.”
Off went the Wordsmith and I was standing alone with ‘Shadow’ and ‘Gina Marie’. God! I felt so small standing under the bows of those boats. You don’t realize how big they are until you’re looking up at them. Thankfully, I have the luxury of being on the ground with this view instead of in the water. Aside from the realization that I forgot my kayak in all this excitement, it occurred to me that I don’t even know that guys real name.
‘Shadow’ has a keel hull, which means that the draft isn’t as deep as ‘Gina Marie’s.’ He sits much closer to the ground when he’s up on jacks. Despite this, he was still six feet in the air and I had to find an old pallet and prop it up against the transom to access the cockpit. Man, he was covered in barnacles, and the zinc was near deteriorated. It was indeed a good thing the Wordsmith was there, otherwise I would have found myself in quite a mess if ‘Shadow’ remained on the water.
I hoisted myself up, slunk in under the davit and pulled myself through the pulpit at the stern. It’s funny how much dirtier the cockpit looked from what I remembered leaving it when I left. This old boy needed a scrubbing for sure. I opened the companionway doors and walked down into his cabin. It was mid-afternoon and despite not doing much other than rowing I was exhausted. I grabbed a quick snack of sardines and crackers and made my way to the v-berth. I remember laying down and feeling overwhelmed at how still ‘Shadow’ was. In the distance, I could hear the traffic screaming by at a much faster pace than my life had been the day prior. I heard a plane overhead and propped the hatch to have a look. A resistant noise filled the air and I looked up to see parachutes opening, people were skydiving! And I was asked if I was stupid…hmph! I laid my head down and felt the breeze flow through ‘Shadow,’ then, I fell asleep.

QUEEN OF CUPS
Thank god for social media! It is the new Tower of Babble, [sic] and the Internet could certainly be compared to Babylon.
I slept for what felt like days. I woke up at night to the sound of sirens blaring nearby. It was something that I was no longer used too and it gave me a start. For a moment, the stillness of ‘Shadow’ made me think the anchor lines snapped and I had run aground, and that the city had gotten closer than I had hoped. Then I came to my senses and recalled the events of the last time I had been awake. Christ, I didn’t even know what time it was.
‘Shadow’s’ hatches were still open and everything was as I had remembered leaving it before falling asleep. I moved out of the v-berth, through the salon and out of the companionway. I looked port off stern and noticed that ‘Gina Marie’ had some lights flickering inside. I wasn’t certain of the etiquette about knocking on your neighbor’s boat when it was on the hard, so I winged it. I klutzed my way down the pallet and knocked on ‘Gina Marie’s’ hull. I immediately heard some foot thumping and the companionway hatch slide open. I heard a siren beckoning me to come up, and I followed.
‘Gina Marie’ stood about ten feet off the ground but it had the same DIY pallet rigging snugged up against the ladder that folded down off her stern. I made my way up and could see right into the salon. I swung my leg over the pulpit railing and turned to see that the Wordsmith was sitting at the table in the salon. The woman greeting me was the singer they called Silver Tongue. Small world indeed, you venture a thousand miles, run into two people that you barely know to pull you out of a situation that would have landed me with next to nothing.
“Welcome aboard! Come on in and make yourself at home. We cooked some steak and I hope you like apple juice.” That woman could convince me to eat anything with the voice she had.
“I’d love some, thanks.” I said as I entered. ‘Gina Marie’ wasn’t anything special inside, much cleaner than ‘Shadow,’ I will admit. Plenty of head room and I could stand up straight. The steak smelled great and she had told me the Wordsmith cooked them up. It must have been recently because the smoke was still clearing out of the cabin. I wondered if they worried about carbon monoxide, but it hadn’t killed me yet, so I suppose it’s the same trifle for them as it is for me.
“I got a surprise for you Seigh.” The Wordsmith said with a sinister little grin on his face. I had barely gotten over the surprise of meat and potatoes and this guy just kept ramming them in my direction.
“Social media is indeed a wonderful thing, and I just got in touch with someone that has been missing you quite a lot. I asked you about her earlier and now she would like to speak with you. I told her I would let you know, all I’m doing is passing the ball onto your side of the court. I don’t like to interfere in the affairs of others.” I knew right away who he was talking about. I had left her without saying goodbye. It was a dick move on my part and I should say that she would cross my mind at least once a day.
“Clarity?” Asking as if I didn’t already know.
“Yep, she gave me her number if you’d like it.”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“Well, I shall lend you mine, feel free to talk if you like. When you’re ready, of course.”
“Is she upset?”
“HA!” Silver Tongue let out a burst. “I know I would be if I was her. Clarity was always kind to me, if it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t have ever met him. If I were you I’d start working on your apology now, I know she’ll forgive you, but damn dude, you just up and abandoned her. That would hurt anybody that loves you.”
“Love!? That’s a word I hadn’t thought of in a while. I didn’t think what we had would have amounted to that.”
“You both lived on boats. Do you have any idea how many available women there are out there willing to live on a boat? NONE! And you should feel lucky that you met her. She’s a good woman and I think you two looked like you needed each other when I saw you at The Blue Room. She told me about you before I left and you made an impression on her that lasted. Of course, you made the impression of leaving too, which is a tough pill for anyone to swallow.” If it wasn’t for the fact that he helped me out so much I would have left the moment he said that, but he was right.
“MY MISTAKE! Could you please stop reminding me, I get it!”
“Ease up babe, let him eat. Small talk, my love.” Simple words that totally suppressed the rising testosterone in the room.
“Sorry Seigh.” A momentary pause lapsed and then he asked. “So what do you think of lovely New Jersey so far?”
“It’s OK. Not sure what to make of it yet, it has a lot of roads it seems. I’m sure there’s a lot more to it, but I can at least say the company has been more than kind.” I finally started eating my steak and let him talk.
“OK. I suck at small talk. How much into Omnism did Clarity go with you?”
“Babe! Let him eat.” She interjected.
The steak was quite delicious. I don’t know if it’s because I hadn’t eaten one in some time, or if he really was that good of a cook, but damn, it was done too perfection. It was odd to watch the two of them as I ate. I could see that he expressed a love towards her that you don’t find in most couples. It was like they had just met and they joked as if they hated each other. I brought up the subject of Omnism to answer the Wordsmith’s question, but he shucked it aside and suggested to save it for another day. For them, it was near time for sleep. He handed me his phone and told me that I have some amends to make with a very special lady. I took it, said good night to the two of them, and made my way off of ‘Gina Marie.’
There was only about fifteen feet separating ‘Shadow’ and ‘Gina Marie’ and in that thirty second march the phone illuminated in my hand. It was a 239-area code and I knew it was Clarity. I hadn’t even begun to think about what to say to her, so I just answered.
“Hello.” If it wasn’t for the light breathing on the other end of the line the silence would have been deafening. In the same instant, it seemed, words sprang to life.
“You’re the person I’d spend time on the phone with and how determined a phrase that is. To not believe it until it actually happens is something that I have yet to understand and it is most certainly one of the quirky little elements of life that I would really love to continue discussing.”
“Did he tell you to say that? Or is that something that finally came from your stubborn heart and through your lips?” That kind of scathed.
“It just popped into my head, I don’t know exactly where it came from, I’m actually still getting used to the sound of my voice again. I haven’t talked to anyone in months.”
“WELL IF YOU DIDN’T LEAVE YOU COULD STILL BE TALKING TO ME!” I had to hold the phone away from my ear. Singers sing, but they also know how to scream as well. I could hear the pain behind it though and knew she was just venting.
“Listen, it’s been a hell of a day, I mean shit, I don’t even know what day it is. And…”
“It’s Tuesday.”
“OK, good, it’s Tuesday. How’s ‘Miss Conduct?’” I’m still trying to break the ice…the very, very thin ice.
“She’s fine.” Bitter cold.
Sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“There, that wasn’t so hard, now was it? I’m leaving in April. It’s all planned for me. I would like it if you to stay there for the winter and get to know the Wordsmith and Silver Tongue. I want you to make your own decisions about what you want to do with your life, and I’m hoping you choose to have me be a part of it. I want you to listen to what the two of them have to say about Omnism and I want you to find how it relates to your life. You have more in common with the Wordsmith than I think you realize, and I want you to know I fell more for your differences from him than for the similarities.”
It was in that sentence that I realized that I wasn’t so alone in the world. All this time the best thing I had, I left behind. I thought she was still hung-up on the guy, I could kind of see the attraction to him. But, I could see how happy he was in the moment I spent with he and Silver Tongue on ‘Gina Marie.’ I realized that I wanted that, I wanted someone to share my time and experiences with. What I had before fell through, due to drugs and alcohol. I thought my life would remain in shambles and instead of looking at the bright side, I had been viewing my life as more of a desperate attempt to live fast, die young and leave a good-looking corpse.
We continued to talk into the night, until the battery died on the Wordsmith’s phone. We spoke about a plan to meet one another again once the winter up here was through, and she was ready to sail north. We spoke about things that we hadn’t spoken about face-to-face. At a distance, we learned more about one another than we had when we were near one another. It all felt like a cruel joke, and at the same time, it felt right.
We talked about Omnism and what it meant to her. About the things that the Wordsmith was able to make her come to realize about herself. That the true notion of this philantheosophy is that life and systems reside within who we are and what fits our being. She said how the Wordsmith was hoping that one day the world may see this, and that his writings would be arranged into a system to be followed once the systems currently in place, collapsed. He was looking to build a better world out of his fiction and a lot of what she said to me had made sense. The feelings of god and science, the reality that we live in and how it is derived from imaginations. That the collective of the majority embraces ideas that keep them restrained from true freedom that resides within. I was already living that life, and after all my questions about god and religion, I realized…I was an Omnist. It’s simple really, life is short, don’t be a dick.
It wasn’t scripture, it wasn’t meditation, it wasn’t going to a building once a week and seeking peace with an all loving being. It wasn’t sacrifice of animals, it wasn’t a maddening desire to shout a name from the rooftops. It wasn’t about going out and condemning others. It wasn’t drawing circles on the ground and lighting candles, it wasn’t about finding which card suits my personality best based on when Jupiter is rising. It wasn’t about reading all the theories about the ins and outs of the universe and mocking those that found peace from some invisible being. Yet, it was all these things and whichever one I chose, even if I chose to make up my own.
Right now, the Wordsmith was making it about being fearless in the face of tyrants and those with a need to suppress. It was about the teachings of a rabble rouser looking to fulfill a prophecy to stop crippling injustices done by those fueled by greed. It was endlessness and value based on time utilized to care for one another. It was hope and peace and love being pushed by a guy on a boat. It was good morals and the common sense to know not to murder anyone. It was a standard of living that seems to have been clouted by all the things that we don’t need. It was anti-greed, it was anti-hate, it was anti-asshole, it was Omnism.
Had it not been for Clarity telling me about this, I would have not ever been able to put a name on how I felt about all the complexities that this world had to offer. They would have remained a jumbled mess in my mind to be either ignored, or a cause for distress. Instead, now, I had a better understanding about these things in which I had so many obvious questions. What Omnism taught me is that I hold the answers within myself, that no question is wrong and that the best answer I could receive is the one I go out and find myself, by looking within.
It is indeed all there, laid out before us in a manner so we can put it together to form a picture that best defines how we feel. Some conclude that Christianity is the proper route for salvation. But, without the fear of Hell there is no reason to find comfort in a God that was written for maintaining order. I found my god in imagination, and I can only draw the conclusion that Moses may have either been telling the truth, or just got tired of living in a system that was oppressive. That he wrote and wrote and wrote until eventually people began to see something wonderful in his words. Writing things about Omnism (in its fledgling stages of understanding) grants the luxury of knowing that I am not a religious fanatic. Finding Omnism at this undefined time in its existence allows me to apply my knowledge into making it a wonderful system for beliefs.
I’m getting off track here, I did eventually fall asleep and woke up to the rapping of someone gently tapping, tapping on ‘Shadow’s’ starboard hull. “Wakey wakey” echoed through and it was the Wordsmith, come to call. “Good morning, sir. I trust you slept well, and I hope you had a good talk. I do however need my phone. I have work, and today you walk.” At first, I didn’t quite get what he was saying. It was only after I handed the phone down to him and he hopped in the passenger side of his car that I realized. I’m on foot and Silver Tongue was taking him to work. I guessed that pretty much meant I was on my own to explore what little this town had to offer. That, and he wandered into my waking thoughts…Wordsmith Wizard indeed.… It became another moment of clarity from that point on.
I didn’t mind walking, it was a nice day out, there was a relatively large road out in front of the propane station that I would later find out is named the Black Horse Pike. A Main Street existed and this little motorway town was named Williamsville. I would later be told by the Wordsmith that this is the area he spent a lot of time in, and that it hadn’t changed much from the time that he was two. He would also tell me that he had come back for his daughter in the hopes that he would see her again. It would be his last effort at it and it seemed to have worked out.
Except for the distances between any major outlets this town was just like any other. It had the big box section, the ma and pa shops down its main street. It had churches everywhere but not like you would find down in the southern states, this was clearly the Catholics domain. Some United Methodist which I’ve learned are humble enough to let you sleep outside overnight, so long as you were gone in the morning and picked up after yourself. Jehovah’s Witness seemed to be in full force. Mostly though, the New Agers and an assortment of characters.
All the major coffee outlets you could ask for, no boating supply stores though. There had to be a hardware store somewhere, but I simply hadn’t found it yet. Probably a big box, but one stop shopping is OK too, when it comes down to it. The time was leaning towards late morning and I realized I hadn’t eaten anything since the steak I had last night. I noticed a small coffee shop humbly named ‘Ma’s’ in an older looking strip mall called Title’s Lane, I said screw it and drifted my way over.
It was coffee shop simplicity and I could smell food was being cooked. Behind the counter was a young girl in her early twenties. The woman in the back looked as if she was her mother. They both shared the same pear shaped body structure, and both were equally as beautiful. I ordered a pork roll, egg and cheese on an everything bagel, poured myself a cup of coffee and had a seat.
There was some show on the television they had hung in the corner. The people on it were yelling and jumping up and down and I could care less. I began to drift away into thought and found myself reflecting on where I had been, the things I had seen, the things I had done to get to this point. The miles I traveled by car, by bike, by foot, by boat. I must have had a zoned-out stare on my face as I drifted away into the back of my mind. I saw the women making my breakfast and then boom! Everything was still there and all was gone.
This could be considered as about as close to meditating as I could get. To be lost in my mind and rifling through my thoughts one by one. My journeys, my wins and losses, my feelings. I’ve done this before on various occasions just before I would drift off to sleep. Close my eyes and lie awake until I would drift into the back of my brain and sit comfortably there. Not so much analyzing my day, but analyzing myself. I was asleep, and at the same time, I wasn’t. I would feel so peaceful and now, here I was out in the open doing the same thing. A rogue in public and a vagabond wandering my own mind.
It would be the Wordsmith that would explain to me that this was indeed meditating. That it was not a part of Omnism by itself, rather, a part of everyday life for most people. He would explain to me that this was something that few people accepted as natural or even accepted at all. They would blame this peaceful time of being on something other than what it is. That this moment of reflection would be what keeps them awake as they attempt to slow down their day in their minds. So few people have the opportunity to fully appreciate what their minds are made of. Mainly, since if they shared these thoughts, those around them would claim that they were out of place, but this isn’t ever the case. Everyone felt this, everyone did this, and few accepted it as normal due to the nature of being normal.
He would further explain to me that the very nature of being normal in this day and age, is to find out what is wrong. That there was a diagnosis for everything that happened and a pill to swallow to make it go away. The Wordsmith would tell me that there are indeed those out there that do need help. But, they need help in a way of understanding their own differences, so that they can embrace the small group of those that share the same affliction. A fast-paced environment crushes this nature. The demand for more of the things we don’t need in order to keep order seems to come first in this world of consumption.
“Pork roll, egg and cheese, babe.” Just like that a blissful order up call from momma pear breaks away my moment. I got up to claim my almighty greasy sandwich and asked what I owed. “already paid for by Yolanda.” she pointed at the corner of the shop and there sat Silver Tongue. “Well, alrighty…thank you….” I picked up my meal and made my way over to sit with her.
“Lost in thought I see.” She said as I sat down with an indifferent look on my face.
“It happens, I was thinking about some things.” I shrugged, hoping she’d ask what.
“Ah, thought. That happens to me from time to time. What were you thinking about?”
“It was more of a reminiscing moment, kind of like just before you go to sleep, I like to think it’s meditating but I’m not that savvy when it comes to looking within.”
“I get like that when I think about existence. That there is really no point in being, other than being. I get to a curiosity in my own mind that finds me curious about the next plane of existence. Ya follow me?” Despite the question, she continued talking. “I like the concept of aliens, not so much in the Scientology way, but that they put us all here. That we are under some kind of a, a…microscope… and they are simply observing us. It goes a long way out, but I suppose that if they are that far beyond our comprehension of the universe, and they haven’t discovered the universe, despite having traveled so much of it, why not consider the beings that they have discovered along the way? The universe may be in them.”
“You mean we are a science experiment?”
“Not exactly, I mean we are the only beings that they have found that they themselves cannot comprehend. They get the galaxies, the stars, the solar systems, they get the beyond because they have been there, or at least they have documentation of it. But, they don’t quite get…us…the humans. They can’t comprehend the universe because they can’t find it, so they look for it in us. They have reached the bottom of the glass of realization and are now seeking a godlike figure in order to understand it, and they see it in us. Even if they did create us, even if they didn’t, even they still don’t know because they just keep coming back for more. If you ask me, what better reason is there to come to this planet?”
As I gobbled down my sandwich I listened to this and hesitated to respond. In that moment, I realized that she wasn’t looking for a response. She wasn’t looking to rope me into a debate and she wasn’t looking to be right. I could see that she was saying this to be herself, to be the person that she feels to be. It was uplifting in a way because I had been so exposed to debates about this, that it was nice to not have someone cramming a thought like this down my throat. It was open, it was quick, it was her, and I had no real reason to argue.
“Is that what an Omnist believes?” Is all that came to mind to ask.
“It’s what I believe, and I’m an Omnist.” She said with a kind certainty.
“I’m still a bit green on this concept. Clarity explained a lot to me on the phone. It’s like something that was obviously there and I felt like a fool about it. As if there was something I wasn’t getting. Despite all the debates and things that I have seen when it comes to religion I still can’t quite grasp this whole Omnism thing.”
“Well, love. That’s because there is no whole thing to it. Omnism itself is not a whole without the past coming together to make it something. You, are one with it regardless if you acknowledge it or not. All things come to an end before they must start over again. Omnism gives neither hope nor despair in what it is. It is only largely there in regards to what you make it. It is lawlessness with regard to the good nature of life. It is chaos with a cause. It is unobtainable with a small grasp on what we can hold onto with our own perception of how things work best.” Now I understood why they called her Silver Tongue down in Florida. I was going to have to get into more detail about this.
Time evaporated. Just like that, I was done my sandwich and in the little black car with Silver Tongue. I had forgotten about ‘Shadow,’ it was easy for a guy like me, especially being in a car with a woman as beautiful as her. She made sense and her words drifted into a place of being that struck me in all the right places. It was as if a flash had happened and I was happy to be there. I had no idea where we were going or what we were doing, it was a surreal time for me. She took me back in time. It made me think of how good that breakfast sandwich had been.
It was one of the most memorable places and I won’t forget it. It was named Batsto, and the place was preserved in time. In the middle of the woods there was nothing else but this place. Walking in there was a small museum that held all the artifacts of a town long gone. Various articles of information littered a tack boards about the surrounding area known as the Pine Barrens. This trip didn’t happen to be so much about this little village, as it was a more of a “getting to know you” for Silver Tongue and me. There was a dark magical solitude about these woods. If the Jersey Devil was real, you could certainly feel why from being around here.
As we walked down the trail that took us towards the main village we could see the mansion surrounded by trees that, at one point, were saplings at the time the home would have been built. There were the remnants of an old barge that obviously wasn’t finished (or sunk). There were mills where they used to process wheat and grains, a blacksmith, a pen where they kept livestock and even a slaughterhouse that I thought was somewhat morbid in a creepy old fashioned way.
My favorite part to all of this had to be the sawmill. It sat along the end of the Mullica River and you could see just from looking at it how this whole process operated. They floated all the logs down the river to the mill where it was processed, and later, used to build all the structures and houses that this little town needed. I wondered how they built the sawmill prior to this technological breakthrough.
Silver Tongue and I had the usual conversations of the who’s and what’s that made up the basic nature of our individuality. She told me how quickly she had decided to jump into a relationship with the Wordsmith and how their lives had been a bit of a dull adventure sailing up the east coast, and back to NJ. She had also told me about her own travels down to Florida and about how Tennessee had been one of her more favored spots to be, as far as scenery and musical influence. I had only heard her sing the one night at The Blue Room and Clarity had told me on various occasions how she had envied the girls voice. Telling Silver Tongue this caused her to be taken back as if she didn’t already know how good she could sing.
She mentioned to me how her and the Wordsmith would share their little black car. About how they managed to make ends meet as best they could while they were in this rather expensive state. He got back to working as a full-time meat cutter and she would sing at locales in the surrounding area. She told me how it was a bit difficult for the two of them in regards to her singing because they were both alcoholic. The Wordsmith frequented these establishments very little. When he did he would only stay for a short time to hear her sing, the rest of the time his nose was either in a composition pad writing, or just admiring her and listening to what she had to say. I suppose she had to wonder whether he was writing her thoughts down.
She brought up the fact that we would indeed have to be leaving soon, because the Wordsmith would be done working and she needed to go pick him up. But, we could take their time getting there, there wasn’t ever really any true rush. Life in her mind moved at a slower clip, she’d mentioned, so this way it was always a matter of living easy and thinking first. She also mentioned that the marina they planned to splash ‘Gina Marie’ at was about ten miles up the road and called Norseman Yachts. She said the place was stacked! Pool, day spa, health center, onsite maintenance…the works…far more than Prosperity Point had to offer. That kind of hurt my feelings, considering I had pretty much been the handy man.
Eventually, I asked her what the Wordsmith’s name was and she told me she liked to call him Chuck, and that the Wordsmith was a nickname given to him by a Wizard. But he’d answered to that, as well. She explained to me that he wasn’t much for being known. That he was hoping that his writing on Omnism would eventually bring about world peace, in a way that most can’t even fathom. That she thought everything he was trying to do was beautiful, and that after reading his words she too felt that it was only a matter of time before people discover this philantheosophy. He had cornered the market but all he really wanted to do was be free. His ultimate goal would be to build a nation, be a part of it, as one of its people. He felt that upon the establishment of this nation, they could prove to the world that a place does exist that does not rely on valuing money, rather, valuing time and the amount of work that goes into creating such a place. He dubbed this nation Omnistocria and one day he hoped to see it blossom and thrive.
The drive back proved to be just as quaint as Batsto itself. This quiet, little, middle of nowhere place had its own resting spot in the Pine Barrens. There was so much history out here and it was all hidden away, still to be discovered (I at least liked to think there was some mystery left out here). Miles and miles of pine trees and not a house in sight. A person could really get lost out here had it not been for the eventuality that they would stumble across some road that either started, or ended, depending upon the direction you were facing when you found it.
When we finally arrived back at the propane station Silver Tongue dropped me off and told me her and the Wordsmith would be back shortly. I was welcome to climb aboard ‘Gina Marie’ and wait, or do whatever. As she drove away I noticed the back window on the driver side (you know, the little triangular one between the back-seat window and the back window itself) was all taped up in what appeared to be black duct tape, I guess they weren’t rich. I turned and looked at both ‘Shadow’ and ‘Gina Marie’ and I opted for some alone time with a girl that wasn’t mine…how covetous….
I must not have noticed the night before how cool the Wordsmith had set ‘Gina Marie’ up to be. The floor was grass on the inside and it was so plush that walking on it barefoot looked delightful. They had also had a cat whose name I would later find out is Lucy Fur. I found this a very punny name considering all the things that I had heard and read about the being. They were both Omnist, but they didn’t worship Lucifer, nor did they pray to a Christian God. The Wordsmith would tell me about how much he adored the story behind Lucifernarianism when brought to the table of religion. About how Lucifer himself was on the side of the humans and rebelled against Adonay for holding all the knowledge to himself. Thus, he was cast out of Adonay’s heaven and given the keys to his own kingdom. Now, in this day and age, there is so much animosity sent out towards certain belief systems, and in essence it is really not fair, but such is life. So far, per certain writings, Adonay is winning in the death count.
I learned a lot about the Wordsmith and who he was that night. If not for his openness about his own humilities in life I would have figured he was a mad person. Yet, I like to think this is the moment that we all decided together about a serious place called Omnistocria. Myself, Silver Tongue, the Wordsmith and Clarity (on a phone of course). He would share his dream with us as if it was already in the process of happening, like he was living it. What got me most was when he would talk about how he didn’t even really want to be there. He still felt that perhaps after all of this he may still have the yearning for freedom. He was indeed a warrior of a different type, in times of peace, he knew his place.

ACE OF WANDS
It was most of that winter of 2016 that I took to the interior of ‘Shadow.’ I showered that little boat with gifts of my blessing. I re-purposed all the crap I pulled apart and I made capabilities much easier for myself. Clarity and ‘Miss Conduct’ would be meeting me after the boats were launched. We would come together in Charleston, SC and from there the intentions were to sail the world. I wanted ‘Shadow’ to be as presentable as possible.
Much of what I collected came from people who were throwing out the old and replacing them with their new Christmas gifts. Evidently, someone had decided to redo their floor in their home, so I was able to lug quite a bit of older, already refurbished hardwood from the trash. It made the interior lining look that much better once I could cover it. All the small leaks in the cabin that had been coming from the deck were sealed with some liquid rubber and then re-painted red. I suppose my boat now looks like the Jersey Devil, but one may not ever know. All of this having been done in the cold, I’m not sure how it’s going to work. But, when you live like I do, you only hold onto the things you have at the moment. There is no real value on things other than who I am. The sentiment I would hope revolves more around my absence once I’m gone rather than when I am around. This is a Wordsmith teaching that I understood over this bitter winter.
For months, it was as if most our conversations took place at night. The oil lanterns would be ignited and their easy lighting made the confined space seem vast. I would learn how to read tarot cards, we would play chess and talk into the early morning hours. We would listen to music and just enjoy the night sky in the warmth of our little sea RV’s. The company was certainly something I had to make an adjustment to. It was nice, I felt like I had finally found friends. People that would understand me for me, and I could tell that they were invoking me into their world. It was wonderful. Full of delight and a passion for being alive. Not hurting a single person and living off the land.
They wanted control, but only over their lives as they would see fit. The allure of this lifestyle is difficult to resist. You’re allowed complete access to anything that you set your mind to. And once you follow your dreams, there is no real way to stop you from achieving them, save for yourself. I found that structuring the rest of my life around this simple existence is how I wanted to live. This is currently all a part of life. This time to gather the life experience I need to survive. I love it, and I wouldn’t want this journey to go any other way…it’s been perfect so far….

UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN
I had come to realize one day that I had no real way to end this story. I decided to suffice it as a part of my delusional mentality. That true delusion I lived was the one that everyone has been trying to sell me. There has been little offered that I could not obtain for myself. One of the things I needed to seek out was the love of another. I found that in Silver Tongue. I found that in those around me that showed me there is a better way to live. I have not given up on my dreams, I am merely doubling my efforts to make them come true. I am almost there, and I feel I have proven my worth to the other Omnists in the world, those that I have encountered up until now. This has become my life, and as such, I hope to continue sharing my dreams.
Am I a figment of imagination for Seigh, or is it the other way around? We are both indeed each other’s clay soldier. Each a figment of the others imagination. Yet, we are all very real entities composed of someone else’s mind. We are the harmony to complete someone else’s symphony. I created these clay soldier’s years ago as a means to express art. I had to find out who I was and how to get my imagination under control before it began to control me. I did so, and thus far I have come up with various stories of how I imagined my way out of not imagining. What’s been the biggest pleasure for me, thus far, has been writing about Omnism. I adore the work, it has become a ministry of sorts. I love being able to shape something. I think everyone should have that in their lives in some way and it is something that Omnism offers. There is nothing wrong with allying yourself with good intentions to pass on to others. Now, when I say this I mean it is time to move away from substandard laws of yesteryear and adopt something more deserving of who we are as humanity.
I wanted to say Seigh bumped his head and went to bed in this, but I found it more fitting for it to be my delusion. You see, I cannot abandon my reality, and that is what I am trying to entertain in this conceptual aspect of Omnism. That eventually all of this will come true, and much of it has already happened. Most people, I think, would refer to me as some kind of false prophet. I am no Nostradamus, nor an Edgar Cayce. I have merely come to understand the consequences of our actions towards one another.
The simple fact of the matter when it comes to this story, is that I haven’t lived much farther than the point where I have left it. I will always be writing The Endless Seigh, because it is a chronicle of my life after finding the term Omnist. It is something that I am still working on in another book for the ‘I Omnist’ series. I do change people, places and things. The story is altered some to fit in with the concept of fiction, but the feeling behind the words is still the emphasis I am trying to get across. I love living life the way I do, it is simple. It is only when others get involved and begin to think that they can dictate to me what it is they think I should be doing. I do not respond well to these scenarios, unless what they say has made sense, too me.